This is the order of things that David Harken loved:
2) His job
3) His cat
4) His wife, Rhonda
5) His daughter, Caylee
There were more pictures of his cat and himself in the house than his wife and his daughter. As far as his daughter, she was nonexistent in Harken's life. A few days after his wedding, an ex-girlfriend, Nora Leeds from high school called him and demanded a paternity test for her child. Once the results said proved he fathered five-year-old Caylee Harken from that slut cheerleader he had slept with in high school soon demanded child support, threatening to take him to court and telling his new wife about them. He never wanted children. Now this bitch showed up with a five-year-old. Fuck Nora! He would make her go away…
And he did…and ended up with a five-year-old crying snot-nosed brat named Caylee. He told Rhonda that it was his child but the mother abandoned her and waived all the rights. That's right! And he got the paperwork from that slut Nora Leeds to back it up.
Rhonda Harken had always wanted a child, but her selfish husband didn't want any. He hated them. To him, they were nothing but crying, whiny, demanding brats that shit their pants and cried for toys or sweets. When little Caylee fell into their lives, Rhonda was overjoyed to be a mother to this abandoned love-child of her husband's. She raised her by herself, giving all her love to Caylee.
Harken didn't care for her. He refused to be acknowledged as her father and hated that title 'dad'; he insisted that she call him 'Mr. Harken' or 'sir'. He wished he dropped her off at an orphanage, but it was complicated. She knew way too much. She had seen things that she wasn't supposed to see. That she would tell the authorities what had happened. As long as he kept her close, she wouldn't say a word. He hated Caylee for being in his life and made sure that she knew it. He used emotional terrorism, humiliation, manipulation, and physical abuse to keep her in line.
For the next few years, Caylee, now twenty-four, became a quiet, shy young woman: her head down, hiding behind grey sweaters, black skirts, a pair of horn-rimmed black glasses, her honey colored hair escaping from her French twist in a hair clip and her baby blue eyes to the floor, working at her father's office, Comnidyne Industries, as an assistant to none other than him. It wasn't enough that she was his slave at home, but at the office. Harken did a variety of abuse to Caylee at the office: yelling at her, teasing her cruelly, humiliating her in front of other coworkers while she just stood silent, taking it like a submissive dog.
The only thing she looked forward to at Comnidyne Industries was seeing Nick Hendricks, one of the executives at the office. She liked talking to him at the water cooler, in the lunchroom, at his desk. He was her only friend. He was handsome with his blue eyes and dark sandy hair. His voice was soft and kind. She felt sorry for him since Harken made Nick a target his abuse as well, forcing him to work overtime that it intervened with his personal life. David Harken was an abusive, slave-driving psychopath. Everyone at Comnidyne Industries knew that. Yet, there was nothing they could do since they were all afraid of him.
While Caylee lay asleep in her bed, she had the dream again: a woman screaming and sobbing, a huge wave of blood coming towards her, a gunshot, a door just halfway open. She tried to get closer to see what had happen, but it was cut short when her four thirty AM alarm screamed. She woke in a cold, startled sweat, her heart pounding. She pressed the off-button and got out of bed to get ready for another day at work. She showered and brushed her teeth and hair in the bathroom.
"Let's go, stupid!" yelled Harken, pounding on the door. "We're going to be late for work!"
Caylee trembled slightly as she stood in the bathroom, fixing her hair and putting on her glasses. She stepped out to a red-faced Harken.
"You didn't iron my shirts!" he said. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you to iron my shirts?"
"I did iron them," she protested weakly.
He held up one of his shirts, which looked very neat. "Well, I don't like the way this one was ironed. Now, get your ass downstairs and iron my fucking shirt!" He threw it in her face. "MOVE!"
Caylee didn't dare protest. She knew how nasty Harken could get: he could be as unpredictable as a storm. His wrath would range from a calm to a full-blown typhoon. It was the calm that frightened her more than the yelling: the throbbing vein in his temple and his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper while he stared at her with cold, soulless brown eyes.
She heated up the iron and prepared the board, getting the starch. She ironed them the way he liked them until they were perfect. He was such a neat freak! She was forced to clean his house from ceiling to floor every day. Once she got in the door after 8 hours of slave-driving at the office, she had to change out of her office clothes into cleaning clothes and do more work and slave-driving until dinnertime.
She could feel tears pricking her eyes, combined with years of suppressed hateful rage and hurt, but what was the point anymore? Tears were useless ever since she was five. Harken would just laugh in her face, calling her a crybaby and mockingly mimic crying. She wiped away the beginnings of tears and just thought of the song "18-Wheeler" by Pink, her favorite singer. Pink would never take shit from anybody, her songs said it all. She'd probably kick Harken's ass.
Harken came into the kitchen in his pants, undershirt, and socks.
"Is my shirt ready?" he demanded.
She nodded and handed it to him, careful not to wrinkle it. He put it on and did his tie and put on his shoes. She stared at that hateful yellow and blue striped tie that he always wore, wishing she could strangle him with it.
"Let's go," he barked.
Caylee sat in the back seat and said nothing, trembling. She thought it would be best to stay quiet since he was in a foul mood from her not ironing his shirts the "right" way. She kept her head down, holding his briefcase.
"We're having a staff meeting tomorrow. You got the memos to pass out?"
She nodded and replied with a quiet "mm-hmm", showing him that she didn't forget. Caylee often went above and beyond her abilities to please her father, hoping that he would show some kind of love or appreciation. Sadly, he showed not even the smallest amount. Yet, if she couldn't get love from him, then her stepmother, Rhonda, gave her love more than he did.
Though she loved Rhonda and appreciated everything she had done for her, she missed her real Mom. Harken made her real Mom go away. He only said that she left…only, she didn't remember what happened…why did she leave? Did she not love her anymore? Why did she leave her with this monster that was her father? She didn't understand.
They opened the office around 5:30 AM and Caylee set up Harken's desk with the notes. She organized the memos for the staff meeting, which announced the promotion for Vice President of Sales at Comnidyne Industries. It didn't say who though. She had heard rumors that Nick was getting the promotion. He sure deserved it after working for eight years in the same position. He had talked about it in the break room several times and how excited he was, after dealing with all the shit Harken put him through. It was finally about to pay off for once.
The office opened at 6 AM. She had prepared everything while Harken ordered her around. Not once did she complain. Nick came in about two minutes after six. He was always the first one there, aside from Thomas, the security officer or the janitor. She walked over to his desk, placing the memo there and greeted him with a polite hello. Nick's face broke into a smile. He was always happy to see Caylee since she brought sunshine into his life. It was the only good thing around the dismal office.
"Did you get the flowers and card I sent you?" she asked. She had sent them since his grandmother died at the hospital a while ago.
"Yes. Thank you so much," he said with a smile.
"How was the funeral?"
"It was lovely."
"Good. I'm sorry for your loss, Nick. I wish I could've gone."
"Thank you." He smiled appreciatively.
"Excuse me?" interrupted Harken. "Are you two having a coffee break or something? If not, I suggest you get back to work."
"Nick, my office please," he said. "I want to speak to you. Caylee, pass out those memos."
Caylee went to pass out memos, asking the coworkers if they wanted coffee and ordering breakfast. She went to knock on Harken's office and saw Nick running out of his office, coughing.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I'm taking breakfast orders, sir," she said. "Do you want anything?"
"Did you pass out the memos like I asked you to?"
"Good. Now order me some oatmeal and bran muffins. Don't forget to confirm my teeth whitening appointment."
She nodded and sat at her pathetic little desk just outside of Harken's office, placing her headset on and putting in orders. She looked at Nick from across the way and decided to surprise him for his promotion. She'd order a cake and ask everyone in the office to chip in. She called everyone at their desks and whispered to them her intentions, which they all agreed to chip in. She called a local bakery and asked to have a large cake made by tomorrow with the words CONGRATULATIONS NICK! Though it was expensive, it was worth every penny. She used some of the company's money to pay for the rest as well as her own that she kept stashed away.
Harken always demanded that she pay rent at his house, aside from cleaning his clothes and cleaning his house. It was hard to hold onto her paycheck to have any fun since it all went to him in the end. After all, he quoted: "I paid for you to go to high school and college to get your secretarial degree…the least you can do is pay me back for living under my roof."
She wasn't ungrateful that he did all those, but sometimes he made it sound like it was all her fault. To him, everything she did was wrong or her fault. She would stash a little bit of money from her paycheck in her secret bank account that nobody, not even Rhonda, knew about so she could leave Harken and get her own place. Yet, she felt sorry for Rhonda for having to stay behind. Hey! Maybe she could convince her to come. She knew she wasn't happy with Harken. She knew she was cheating on him, but so what? It was completely understandable. Maybe she'd leave him soon.
Lindley Bowen was 26 years old, dyed black hair, a nose ring and an eyebrow piercings. She worked at the dentist office of Julia Harris, DDS as a dental assistant. Dr. Julia Harris, the worst. Boss. EVER! Julia was a sex crazed, touchy-feely bitch who went after her employees, especially her coworker, Dale Arbus. Lindley felt so sorry for him. Dale was constantly being groped, seduced and talked dirty to by Julia, just to get him to sleep with him, even though she knew he was engaged to Stacy. No matter how many times he begged, reasoned, even screamed at her to stop, she just didn't get the message through her brunette bumped head.
While in the exam room, Julia had sedated a patient and began examining his teeth with Lindley, dressed in purple scrubs, sat on a little stool across from her and handed tools to her.
"Do you watch Gossip Girl, Lindley?" she said.
"Not really," she said, uninterested.
"It was such a good episode last night…I fingered myself to that Penn Begnley scene…"
Lindley rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. Like she needed to hear again about what she did in her private life!
"Jules, I really could care less about what you did last night," she said.
"Seriously, Lin, would you finger me? Do you think I'm hot? Would you fuck me if I played on your team?"
Oh God! This bullshit again! Lindley was so sick of her making comments about her being a lesbian. True, it was well known around the office. Hell, it was California. The entire state was full of gays. Yet, to work in an office where your boss constantly talked about nothing but was a pain in the ass. Though Julia harassed mostly the male employees, it still didn't stop her from harassing Lindley. She was a little touchy-feely with Lindley, ranging from light patting, poking, pinching or grabbing her ass, but most of her harassing was comments and questions.
"Not really," she said, flatly. "I'm not really into sexually aggressive."
"Isn't your girlfriend pretty aggressive? What's her name, Denny?"
"It's Denise. Look, can we just work and stop the bullshit? I'm getting really sick of this conversation. It's been going on for too long."
Julia ignored her and went back to work, doing sexual things to the patient, such as placing his hand on her boob or touching his crotch and making sexual comments. Lindley was so disgusted that she wanted to tell the patient what happened when they woke up, but Julia threatened to fire her if she dared. What choice did Lindley have? Julia ruled her practice with an iron fist. She was tolerant to people with criminal records, as long as she could get what she wanted: a free sexual ride with all her employees. She knew that Lindley had a record of aggravated assault and wasn't able to get a job anywhere else.
On a break, she went out for a smoke and found Dale sitting by the picnic table, his head buried in his hands, frustrated.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he replied.
"Mind if I smoke?"
"Everything OK?" she said, taking a lungful of smoke. She noticed his pants were wet. "Did you piss your pants?"
"No. Julia sprayed my crotch with the water sprayer. She was checking out my dick through my pants."
"Just now, she asked me if I would fuck her."
"I didn't know Julia swung both ways," he joked.
"I wouldn't be surprised if she did." Taking another lungful of smoke. "I have some extra scrub pants in my locker you can use. You look about my size, so they should fit."
"Thanks, Lin." Dale appreciatively smiled.
It was good that she had a friend that she could joke about their boss. They both suffered the same treatment by her. It was a good way to vent. Dale was a very good friend and coworker.
"Jesus, I can't stand that bitch," she said. "Seriously, we need to get another job somewhere else."
"I know, I know," he said. "But nobody is going to hire us. We have criminal records."
"You need to get that expunged. You're not a sex offender." Dale had told her that he was a registered sex offender, all because he peed in a sandbox on a playground at night: like it was his fault that they built a bar near a playground. "You really should call Denise. She works for a lawyer who's a real shark. He'll expunge your record till it's squeaky clean."
"You think so?"
Dale liked Lindley. She was definitely a person he could trust and he felt comfortable around her. She was a guy friend he never had, aside from his other friends, Kurt and Nick.
Sara Neely, PhD, in chemistry and environmentalism had a job interview today with Pellit and Son. Jack Pellit was a kindly man who looked over her resume and was clearly impressed. Sara had red hair, green-eyes and in short to say it: a beauty with brains. The most beautiful girl Kurt Buckman ever saw in his life! Though he was a player, he swore that he'd give up screwing around just to be with her.
Well, Sara was no angel either. She enjoyed sex as much as a man did. Not that she was a slut, but why should there be a double-standard? Why couldn't women enjoy sex as much as men did? After all, she lived a crazy life while in college: she had a tramp stamp on her back and worked as a stripper to pay for college.
Jack Pellit showed her around the chemical plant, smiling at the new potential employee. Though he was impressed by her college studies and her activism in environmentalism, he wasn't sure why a PhD would want to work at his chemical plant. Surely, Sara was much too smart to work here.
"I still don't understand why someone like you would want to work in a chemical plant," Jack said. "Hell, I'm sure it ain't interesting to someone of your educational standards."
"Well, it's all about getting my foot in the door," Sara said, honestly. "I'm willing to work in other parts of the office if needed. I don't mind."
"Sounds good to me. I say, you're in. Let's take a tour of the office, shall we?"
Sara nodded. Jack introduced Sara to everyone in the office, whom they greeted warmly. Soon, she met a really handsome man, brown haired and eyed, very tall, wearing a tie and shirt. She saw that look in his eye, definitely a player. Hmmm, he sure is fuckable, she thought to herself.
"And this is Kurt Buckman, our accounting manager," he introduced the man.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Buckman," Sara replied with a smile, shaking hands.
"Please," said Kurt, smiling. "Mr. Buckman's my Dad. Just call me Kurt."
Sara smiled and giggled a little. Kurt felt his dick get hard and uncomfortably crossed his legs. God! A redhead with green eyes with a PhD! Really hot! Nice tits and legs. He could see a tattoo of a Chinese character on her graceful ankle.
Soon, there was the sound of snorting and a toilet flushing coming from the only bathroom in the office. Soon, an ugly looking man came out, sniffling. He looked oddly familiar, but shook it off. He reminded her of a goblin: he had creepy, dark eyes, he was balding and had terrible comb-over, a diamond stud in his ear, and a red nose. If Sara knew anything from her past, she knew that he was a cokehead. Many of the strippers that she worked with did it. She tried it once, but it was too much for her her to handle. She decided to stay as far away from it as possible.
"Damn," said the little man, staring Sara over. "Fine piece of ass you got there, Dad."
Jack swallowed, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry. This is my son, Bobby. Bobby, this is Dr. Sara Neely."
"Nice to meet you," Sara said in an attempt to be polite.
"Have I seen you before?" said Bobby, squinting as if he recognized her from somewhere...
"I don't think so," said Sara, shaking her head.
She recalled her days when she worked in the club Sapphire. There were lots of clients that came into the club. She may have seen this creep somewhere, doing coke in the Champagne Room with the other girls. Oh shit! Yes! She did remember this creep. He requested her all the time with three others. She often wore wigs and costumes. He was turned onto fantasies and role play. However, he was into really sick things like asking for the strippers for rimjobs, anal play, etc. She would leave immediately and ask one of the bouncers to escort her in case he chased after her.
"I know you!" he exclaimed. "You're Rocket from Sapphire. Tramp stamp with red roses. Yea! I remember you!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a straight face. She hoped she wasn't blushing. The last thing her potential boss needed to know was her shady past.
"Do you still have that tramp stamp?"
"OK, Bobby," said Jack. "That's enough. The girl doesn't know what you're talking about. Back to your desk. So, you can start tomorrow, Sara?"
"Great. I'll see you tomorrow. Welcome to the team."
"Thank you, Mr. Pellit."